


Drift

by serapheim



Series: 30 Kisses [11]
Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ, Real Person Fiction
Genre: A wakeup call, Angst, Drinking, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Friends to Enemies, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Guns, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Jaejoong forgives almost anything, Jaejoong is an angel, Love/Hate, M/M, Near Death Experience, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence, Smoking, Usually people whom you love the most hurt you the worst, Yoochun is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serapheim/pseuds/serapheim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is some part of Yoochun that craves for brutality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drift

**Author's Note:**

> 30_kisses challenge, #3; jolt!

There was some hidden part of Yoochun that craved for brutality. He liked his music loud and noisy, a low beat that seemed to penetrate his skin and make his heart follow an unknown pattern. He preferred rapping and screams to soft melody of the voice. The sound would make him lose his mind and move his body mindlessly to the beat.  
   
Yoochun liked driving fast. He enjoyed pressing gas pedal into the floor and watching the speedometer hand go from sixty to one hundred twenty in seconds. He would drive in the night breaking all limits, speeding through dark streets, taking illegal u-turns and passing on red lights. Seat belt was overrated, and laws were made to be broken.  
   
He knew he could take anything Fate had in store for him.  
   
Nothing and nobody could stop, him when Yoochun decided to be reckless. He chose the strongest cigarettes, claiming he liked to feel the way the smoke burned through his lungs. The same went for alcohol. Liqueurs and wine were for sissies, he used to say, and whisky tasted like a camel piss. Nothing could compare to the raw and clear taste of vodka, which seemed to skip unnecessary trips to his stomach, going straight for his head, messing up with his brain and clouding his mind.  
   
It gave him the freedom, he did not possess when he was sober.  
   
He would come to Jaejoong only when he was high. When he felt some savage and brutal desires burn inside his chest. Then he would enter the bedroom with walls painted beige and advance on a slender body that always yielded to him. He would have to drink himself silly, till he stopped thinking that it was human flesh under his fingers; that it was a living being under his body; that it was a friend, who moaned and cried and bled.  
   
But Yoochun let that brutality overcome him, possess him, erasing all traces of sense from his mind. It seemed as if he went blind and deaf at the same time, leaving him with the only burning urge to clench, scratch, bite, and thrust, thrust, _thrust_.  
   
Mornings were non-existent in Yoochun’s world. No morning-afters, no regrets, no fights and demands for explanation. Because there was no doubt about whose nails had left the scratches and bruises on the porcelain skin of the other’s back, or whose blinding lust caused smears of blood on the sheets.  
   
Never in his life did Yoochun meet with resistance. Whatever he wanted he would get. And he never knew punishment for his deeds.  
   
That was why when finally he was met with a gun pointed unwaveringly at his head and a pair of determined dark eyes, he simply laughed it off.  
   
“Oh my, aren’t we snappy today?”  
   
He grinned his ‘couldn’t-care-less’ smile, as his hand slid down smooth thigh. The bed smelled fresh, like it always did. But it was not for long.  
  
“Don’t.”  
   
Jaejoong sounded deadly serious, and if Yoochun was sober he would have noticed it, but he was not, that was why he didn’t. His hand still moved in circles, each time pressing harder into the soft flesh. His other hand was undoing the buttons of his shirt. He ignored the gun as if it was not there.  
   
“Stop.”  
   
But he didn’t. And his hand was still moving.  
   
“Stop it, god dammit, _Yoochun_!”  
   
His hand dived into Jaejoong’s briefs, and the gun went off.  
   
For a moment both of them were still. Then Yoochun’s fuzzy brain registered that his cheek was stinging. When he wiped the back of his hand over it, it came off bloody. Jaejoong’s eyes were impossibly big and scared, his hands were shaking. He looked ghostly pale against white sheets.  
   
“What the hell are you doing, Yoochun?” He whispered hoarsely, tears gathering in his eyes, threatening to spill soon. “What are you trying to make _me_ do?”  
   
Yoochun stared at the gun dropped on the bed, black and too real. In his mind somebody was screaming at him, and he wondered vaguely if it was what a person feels like when going mad.  
   
“Like hell I know…”  
   
~*~*~  
   
Written: August 06, 2006  
Revised: June 06, 2013


End file.
